


Kind of Like Smitten

by fitofpique



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: First Time, M/M, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 03:18:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitofpique/pseuds/fitofpique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon and Shane get snowed in at the cabin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kind of Like Smitten

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to cindyjade and secrethappiness for performing beta and cheerleading duties. The title is from the song of the same name by The Ergs.

"Shane."

He shakes his head and turns his face away from the sudden, intrusive light and noise.

"Shane." 

He makes a garbled noise of displeasure and squeezes his eyes even more tightly shut. 

"Shaaaaane. Shane! Shane, _come on_. We're here!"

This last is punctuated with what feels like a knuckle digging into the sensitive spot behind his ear. Shane admits defeat and cautiously cracks open one eye. Brendon's smiling face is inches away from his.

"Shane," Brendon says again, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together, "we're at the cabin."

"Okay." Shane blinks at Brendon until his vision clears, then headbutts him lightly before pulling away. "Let's do this."

"Yeah," Brendon says, sitting back in the driver's seat and handing Shane his beanie. "For once, you're actually going to need this."

Shane pulls it on and buttons his coat. "Sorry I crashed on you, man. How long has it been snowing?"

Brendon shrugs. "I don't know. It started coming down somewhere around South Lake Tahoe maybe? I've never really driven in snow. It was kind of awesome."

The glee in Brendon's voice makes Shane kind of glad he slept through it. "Yeah?"

"Totally." Brendon pulls up his hood and zips up his jacket and then opens the car door, letting in a shock of wintry air. "I'll go unlock the door. Grab Dylan, okay?"

Dylan barks once from the backseat. "All right," Shane says. The cold should be waking him up, but he still feels stupid and groggy, clumsy as he unbuckles his seatbelt and struggles out of the car. He opens Dylan's carrier and considers letting her out of the car without her lead, but it's dark and they're on a mountain and there are trees and maybe mountain lions or bears, for all Shane knows. This is his first time with custody since the breakup, and Regan would flip if he lost her. And Brendon would kill him if Shane let Dylan run around in the snow without dressing her up in the ridiculous fur-lined boots and jacket combo he bought her for Christmas, so Shane carries her up to the door, getting a thoroughly slobbery face for his trouble.

:::

"Tell me you didn't pack the coffee maker, Brendon," Shane says, staring into the back of the SUV in disbelief.

"I did not pack the coffee maker, Shane," Brendon says, hip-checking him out of the way and lifting the box out with some difficulty. He starts walking up the front walk and then stops, grinning at Shane over his shoulder. "I packed our new espresso maker."

Shane shoulders his duffel bag and pulls another box toward him. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he says to himself, "the fucking XBox?" He shakes his head and props the box on his hip so he has a free hand to carry both of their laptop bags.

They're only staying for the weekend.

:::

Brendon had done the shopping while Shane finished up a project, so he's a little apprehensive that they might be subsisting on Poptarts and chips and salsa all weekend. Thankfully, his fears are unfounded. He unpacks two baguettes, milk, cheddar and parmesan cheese, a carton of eggs, a head of romaine lettuce, some tomatoes, and a bunch of asparagus. In the bottom of the bag, a jar of seedless raspberry jam, Shane's favorite, is wedged in between two boxes of spaghetti and a bag of coffee beans. Shane stares at it for a long time while Brendon bustles around behind him, performing an enthusiastic rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody and putting things in the fridge.

Brendon prefers grape jelly.

:::

"What do you want in your eggnog?" Brendon asks, bending over to peer into the bag from the liquor store. Christmas has come and gone, but he's wearing a Santa hat. It slides into his eyes until he lifts a hand to push it back.

Shane has to think about it for a minute. "Um, anything but rum?"

"Vodka?" Brendon suggests, pulling a bottle of Grey Goose out of the bag.

"Eww, no," Shane says, laughing when Brendon tilts his head and gives him a put-upon look.

"Bourbon then," Brendon says, holding the bottle up.

"Okay," Shane agrees. Dylan is sitting on his lap wearing an expression of utter bliss as he strokes her silky ears. He comforts himself with the thought that maybe she's missed the hell out of him too.

He should get up and go help Brendon, who's opening and closing every cupboard and drawer in the kitchen, but there is an official rule that states that the person who is not wearing the dog at any given time will provide drinks and snacks as necessary, as well as open the door for food deliveries, locate lost remotes, adjust the temperature, answer the phone, and roll the joints, if the occasion calls for that sort of thing. Dylan is the perfect excuse for complete immobility and utter laziness – which makes Shane miss her even more. He sighs feelingly and slouches further down on the couch.

* * *

Brendon looks over at Shane, slumped sadly on the couch, and his heart kind of aches. Everything is so fucked up. He thought getting away would cheer Shane up, but it’s been less than a month since the breakup and it's probably going to be like ... a whole process or whatever. Obviously, Shane needs time to grieve and shit. He might even want to talk about his feelings, which Brendon is totally fine with because he is a sensitive guy and a good friend and he wants Shane to be happy. He frowns and adds another shot of bourbon to Shane's eggnog. 

"Here you go, loser," he says, nudging Shane in the shoulder with his drink.

Shane accepts the glass. "Aren't you're supposed to be nice to me right now?"

"What are you talking about?" Brendon scoffs, dropping onto the couch next to him. "I am totally handling you with kid gloves."

Shane takes a sip of his drink. "What the hell does that even mean?" he asks, staring into his cup and making a little face.

"I have no idea," Brendon says.

"Good eggnog," Shane says, and knocks back the rest of the glass without so much as a shudder.

Sometimes Shane does things that make Brendon want to ... he doesn't even know what. Something. He doesn't realize that he's totally zoned out, staring, until Shane holds out his empty glass and waves it from side to side right in Brendon's face.

"Do you mind?" he asks, smiling innocently and gesturing at Dylan sleeping in his lap. "I don't want to wake the dog."

Brendon flips him the bird and gets up to make more drinks.

:::

"That is the craziest shit I've ever seen," Brendon says, staring wide-eyed at the ugly joint in Shane's hand. His pupils are huge.

Shane scowls and digs a clear orange plastic Bic out of his pocket to light it. "It's just a little bent," he says, taking a monumentally deep haul.

"That's what he said," Brendon replies, and laughs so hard he rolls off the couch. He lies on the carpet and makes grabby hands until Shane leans over and blows a stream of smoke right in his face before putting the spliff between Brendon's lips.

Brendon freezes for a second when Shane's fingers press warm against his lips. "You're such an asshole," he says eventually, ignoring the unexpected quiver in his belly and taking a long drag. 

Shane grins down at him. "But you love me," he says, waggling his eyebrows and making a stupid leery face.

Brendon exhales. "Yeah," he says, his voice husky with smoke. And that's when he's hit with a sudden and dizzying realization. 

_Yeah._

:::

"We should take Dylan for a walk and then go to bed," Shane says, dropping the roach into the last inch of eggnoggy water in his glass with a ssszt.

Brendon makes a mental note to make Shane do the dishes tomorrow and rolls his head from side to side on the soft carpet. "That's a good idea," he says. "I was just going to have that idea. Help me up." He lifts his arms.

Shane grabs his wrists and heaves, but Brendon makes himself a dead weight. "A little help, you fucker," Shane says, and stumbles, banging his shin into the coffee table. "Ow! For fuck’s sake, Brendon."

"Sorry, sorry man," Brendon says, struggling to his feet and wrapping his arms around Shane's waist, rubbing his nose against his shoulder. "I'm wasted."

Shane just slips one arm around his waist and lets his cheek rest against Brendon's hair. "Yeah. Me too."

They stand there swaying for a minute before Brendon starts to feel hot and weird and steps away.

:::

It takes them way too long to get themselves and Dylan into boots and jackets.

"Who's Daddy's pretty little princess?" Brendon coos at her.

Shane shakes his head, but he thinks she's fucking adorable, Brendon can tell. He puts up her tiny, fur-trimmed hood. "Okay, we're all set."

"Where's her lead?" Shane says.

"I put it ... crap." Brendon rubs his face and tries to be less fucked up. "Oh, it's on the door knob. That was clever of me."

"Genius," Shane says. He clips the lead to Dylan's collar and opens the door.

"Ho shit," Brendon says, hovering in the doorway.

Shane grabs the front of his jacket and yanks. "Get out here, you pussy."

"Fuck you. It is go-to-hell cold out here, man!" Brendon pulls the door closed behind himself and jams his hands into his pocket, scrunching up his shoulders to cover his ears.

Dylan looks up at them with a beseeching expression. "Just do your business and we can go in," Shane tells her.

"It's business, it's business time," Brendon sings, and does a slow and sexy shuffle in the snow until Dylan pees and they can go back inside.

* * *

The cabin smells of coffee and toaster waffles when Shane wakes late the next morning, so he knows Brendon's already up. It's chilly in his room, so he pulls yesterday's sweater on over his long-sleeved t-shirt and pyjama bottoms and digs some wool socks out of his bag. He checks out his hair in the mirror and it is completely fucked up, so he puts on his hat too.

The snow is still coming down thick and fast outside the big picture window, and Brendon and Dylan are curled up on the couch in a nest of blankets watching the news with rapt attention. "Hi," Brendon says, without turning away from the television.

"Morning," Shane says, sitting next to him on the couch and sneaking under the corner of the blanket.

"Shane, check this out." Brendon grabs Shane's arm and pulls him closer, pointing at the screen, as though there is some way Shane might fail to notice the banner underneath the newscaster that says **STORMWATCH 2008**. The letters have little icicles hanging off them. Brendon's eyes are unnaturally wide, whites visible all the way around the iris, which Shane once heard is a sure sign that someone is crazy. "They said everyone in the area should make sure they have enough food for a couple of days, avoid driving unless absolutely necessary, and stay inside and wait out the storm! Stormwatch 2008!" Brendon crows, punching the air and turning back to the news.

Shane is kind of speechless. He stares at Brendon's ecstatic profile in silence until Brendon finally notices.

"Dude, _what_?" he says.

Shane shakes his head. "I forget how bizzare you are sometimes."

"Fuck you! They’re calling it _Snowmageddon_ , Shane! It's fucking awesome and you know it."

"Just try not to jizz yourself," Shane says.

Brendon makes yap-yap motions at him. Shane thinks about trying to get his attention by wrestling him off the couch, but he really can't work up that kind of excitement this early in the day. He pokes Brendon in the side. "Is there coffee?"

"No, I made a cappuccino," Brendon says, brightly.

Shane makes his most pathetic, caffeine-deprived face and bumps Brendon's knee with his. "Please? You're better with the espresso machine than me."

Brendon grins and points at Dylan, sprawled across his lap. "Sorry, man. But I'll have another one, if you're getting up. "

Shane heaves a melodramatic sigh and shuffles into the kitchen to steam the shit out of some milk.

:::

"The roads are closed," Brendon says an hour later.

"Oh well." Shane slouches further into the couch. "We've got everything we need, right?"

"Right," Brendon says, shifting around so that Shane can stretch out without comment. He straightens the blanket so it’s covering both of them and then looks at Shane with a strange half-smile. Shane lifts one eyebrow in a silent question, but Brendon just shakes his head shrugs.

Something about the look on his face makes Shane wish he had his camera handy.

:::

"It must be getting colder out there." Shane shivers and tries to subtly inch his way closer to Brendon on the couch.

Brendon nods and pauses Dawn of the Dead before turning to look out the window. "I can't believe it's still coming down out there."

Shane rests his chin on his hands and stares out at the snow drifting heavily down. "I kind of want to go out with my camera, but then it would be ruined, you know?"

"Yeah," Brendon agrees. "And you'd probably freeze your balls off."

"That is also a concern," Shane says, turning back to the television. "That legless zombie totally freaks me out."

"I know! Shit is fucked up," Brendon says, and pushes play.

The half-zombie claims an unsuspecting victim, and Shane makes a pretense of rearranging the blanket so he can both look away and slide a little bit closer to Brendon.

The corner of Brendon's mouth tips up. "Dude, if you want to cuddle, you just have to ask."

"Shut up," Shane says, but he shuffles over so their sides are pressed together under the blanket. "You're really warm."

"You mean I'm really _hot_ ," Brendon corrects him. 

Shane rolls his eyes and squishes closer.

:::

"Okay, now even _I'm_ cold. You're like an ice pack!"

Shane doesn't move from where he's sprawled half on top of Brendon. "Shhhh," he says sleepily, and goes back to contemplating the wisdom of sticking his face into Brendon's armpit for additional warmth.

"Shane, wake up, I'm serious. It's fucking freezing in here! I can see my breath!"

"Turn up the heat," he mumbles.

Brendon squeezes Shane’s neck and sighs. "Where's the thermostat?"

"Down the hall," Shane says, tucking his face under Brendon's arm and inhaling experimentally. Not bad. 

"Okay," Brendon says, and tries to stand up. "Uh ... dude?"

"Mhmm?" Shane's voice is muffled by Brendon's hoodie.

Brendon laughs and after a brief struggle slides out of Shane's grasp. "I'll be back in a sec." 

Shane pulls the blanket up to his chin and tries to fall asleep, because the alternative is coming to terms with the fact that he just spent an hour sprawled all over his best friend. His best friend, who gives awesome neck rubs and smells kind of awesome and is the only person with whom Shane would want to be trapped in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, if anyone had asked him to choose. And since Shane's being so honest with himself, this is probably a perfect time to admit the real reason for his breakup: he's kind of in love with Brendon. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries to unthink it, but it doesn't work. 

_Fuck._

* * *

Brendon stares at the thermostat's digital display and frowns. It says 70 degrees, but his nipples say otherwise. He rubs little circles around them while he thinks about what to do. He presses the reset button. Nothing. He hits the button featuring an arrow pointing up. Nada. He tries randomly jabbing at buttons. Nope. He pretends to be a CIA agent accessing secret headquarters by punching his code into the keypad.

The screen goes entirely blank.

He bites his lips and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Oh-oh."

:::

He was only a couple of minutes breaking the furnace, but Shane's asleep when he gets back, which seems to be his new thing. Brendon's starting to wonder if maybe he's a narcoleptic, but he thinks he's probably just a little sad. He stares down at Shane, whose sleeping face is sweet but also kind of scrunched up and worried looking. He thinks about pushing the hair off Shane's forehead, smoothing over the wrinkle in his forehead with his fingers, and doesn't realize that he's actually going to do it until his hand enters his field of vision, moving of its own volition. His fingers are an inch from touchdown when Shane opens his eyes and scares ten years off Brendon's life.

He jumps back and has to pinwheel his arms around so he doesn't fall on his ass. "Shane, fuck!"

Shane blinks at him. "Brendon."

Brendon waits, but that's all Shane says, so he finally asks, "What?"

"What?" Shane repeats. He looks dazed. "What are you doing?"

Brendon surprises himself by coming up with a believable lie, which is usually not his strong suit. "I was just going to wake you. The thermostat is busted."

"Oh. Well shit." Shane yawns and scrubs his hands over his face.

"Yeah," Brendon agrees. "But you can fix it, right?"

Shane laughs. "Brendon, I'm a filmmaker, not a furnace repairman." 

"But you're handy!" Brendon says. "You fixed the AC that one time. And the garbage disposal!"

Shane grins and shakes his head. "I called someone. I'm totally handy with the Yellow Pages."

"But you have, like, tools and shit. You put those shelves up for me!"

"That was Regan, actually." Shane says.

Brendon puts his hands on his hips and glares sternly down at him. "Shane!"

Shane lifts his hands and shrugs. "What?"

"All this time, you've been living a lie! I thought you were all competent and resourceful and shit, and meanwhile your girlfriend was fixing stuff around our house." 

"Ex-girlfriend," Shane says, smiling.

"So what you’re saying is that we're fucked?" Brendon says, collapsing onto the couch.

"Looks like it," Shane agrees, but he doesn't look too worried.

Or maybe he does. Brendon's not sure, because that's when the lights go out.

:::

"Do you think it's a fuse?" Shane whispers.

"I don't even know what that means," Brendon says. He reaches out and scrabbles around on the coffee table until he finds the lighter and flicks it on. "I think the power's out because of the storm."

"Oh yeah, probably. I don't have a fucking clue," Shane says. His expression is sheepish in the flickering flame.

"I saw candles in the kitchen," Brendon says, and stands up. "You should come get them with me." It's really fucking dark for four in the afternoon.

"Okay," Shane says, and follows so close he steps on Brendon's heel twice on the way.

Brendon grabs the box of candles and starts opening all the cupboards again looking for candle holders. There is a surprisingly wide selection. He starts handing them to Shane, pausing when the lighter burns his thumb and he has to let it go out. "It's kind of like the setup for a bad horror movie," he says into the darkness. 

"Dude, shut up!" Shane says, shuffling closer so their sides are pressed together. "Everyone knows saying something like that's just asking for it!" 

"Pussy," Brendon laughs. He flicks the lighter on again and starts lighting candles.

Shane watches him intently. When he shivers, it runs through Brendon too. "What are we going to do about the furnace?"

Brendon shrugs and lights another candle. "There's a fireplace."

:::

When Shane offers to go out to the shed and get firewood, Brendon wants to fucking kiss him. Okay, he totally does kiss him. And not the jokey kind of smacking kiss on the cheek he usually lays on Shane when he gets his own way either.

He watches closely as Shane wipes his mouth gingerly on the back of his hand. It's hard to tell by candlelight, but Brendon thinks that Shane's face is even more flushed than usual and his eyes are wide. He smiles at Shane with more confidence than he actually feels, which is, after all, pretty much his specialty, and tries not to feel too hopeful about the dumb-founded way that Shane looks back at him and the unsteadiness in his voice when he speaks after a long, weighty moment.

"Okay," Shane says, and clears his throat. "If I'm not back in a few minutes, put a tiny cask of brandy around Dylan's neck and send her out after me."

Brendon nods seriously. "Dude, of course."

He leaves Shane to it and takes one of the candles down the hall. He pees by candlelight, which is pretty romantic actually, and races back to the kitchen. He doesn't want to miss Shane carrying wood and acting all butch!

It doesn't look like Shane's going to be able to get the shed open. He kicks at the snow piled up at the foot of the door and pulls on the handle, but it seems to be stuck. He braces himself and gives the door what looks like a really hard yank and a mountain of snow avalanches off the shed roof.

Brendon pulls open the kitchen door and runs out. "Shane!" he shouts at the man-sized pile of snow and starts to dig.

* * *

"Oh my God, are you okay?" Brendon sounds frantic. He grabs Shane under the arms and pulls him to his feet.

Shane nods, wiping a hand over his face to squeegee the slush off it. "Snow's heavier than it looks," he says, in a small voice. 

"Fuck, yeah." Brendon gets Shane in a strangle-hug and half drags half carries him into the cabin. "Dude, you scared the shit out of me," he says, unbuttoning Shane's coat and pushing it off his shoulders. 

Shane kicks off his boots and shakes the snow out of his hair. "Sorry." 

Brendon grabs his hands and chafes them between his own. "You're freezing. Put your hands under my arms," he says, and unzips his hoodie. 

Shane can't move his arms. It's like he's lost all control of his body. "Um," he says stupidly.

"Come on," Brendon says, grabbing Shane's wrists and putting his hands into place. "Okay," he says, matter-of-factly, like they do this sort of thing every day. "Here's the plan. I'm going to go get some wood, now that you've thoughtfully eliminated the risk of death by avalanche, and you're going to go change and dry off. Then we're going to cozy up in front of the fire and get fucked up, all right?"

"All right." Shane nods dazedly. Brendon is staring at him really intently, and he's already starting to feel warm and kind of tingly all over and his heart is banging hard against his ribs.

Brendon smiles at him. "You can have your hands back now." 

"Oh!" Shane pulls his hands back and stands there awkwardly, his face burning. "Thanks," he finishes lamely, shoving his hands into the pockets of his damp pyjama pants and shivering violently. "I'll just. Go change," he says, nodding jerkily in the direction of the bedrooms.

:::

Shane thinks about it, sitting naked and cold on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He isn't stupid. He has always been very aware that to know Brendon is to love him, which is one of many reasons he pushed aside the something – he could never quite bring himself to name it – that he felt for Brendon. The other big reason was that he never imagined that Brendon might reciprocate. But then he thinks about the look on Brendon's face that morning. And that kiss. And the million other moments that he's deliberately ignored as long as he and Brendon have been friends. He shakes his head and half laughs half groans at himself.

He pulls random clothes out of his bag and gets dressed, rubs half-heartedly at his wet hair with a towel, and then goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, concentrating very hard on not thinking about what might or might not happen.

:::

Brendon is kneeling in front of a blazing fire, his straight back to the room, when Shane screws up enough courage to leave the bathroom, ignoring the flicker of anxiety threatening to turn into a full-blown freak out.

"I need to tell you something," Brendon says, without turning around.

Shane can't stop himself from expecting the worst – that he read everything wrong and somehow Brendon knows and he's going to try to let Shane down gently and it will be horrible and embarrassing and and. What was he fucking thinking? He takes a deep breath and does his best to hide the fact that he's about to have a nervous breakdown. "Okay," he says, in an almost normal voice.

Brendon puts another log on the fire and then rises nimbly to his feet and turns around, dusting his hands off on his pants. His eyes are dark and serious in the firelight and his jaw is set determinedly.

Shane's stomach flips over backwards. "What is it?" he asks.

Brendon takes a couple of steps toward him until he's close enough that Shane could reach out and touch him, if things were going a different way. "Okay," he says breathlessly, and then he leans in and kisses Shane firmly on the mouth.

After a long, frozen moment, when it feels like Brendon might pull away, it occurs to Shane to _kiss back_ , God, it's like he's never done this before, and he shuffles forward, closing the distance remaining between them, cupping Brendon’s jaw and pushing his tongue into his mouth. When Brendon moans and bites Shane's bottom lip, hot and cold chase each other over his whole body and he can't help but shiver and press even closer, kiss Brendon harder.

Everything gets a bit hazy after that.

:::

"So what did you want to tell me?" Shane asks later, pushing himself up onto his palms so he can stare down at Brendon's face, admire the rosy flush spreading from his cheeks down his neck and chest.

"Shut up," Brendon says, but he's smiling giddily, rocking his hips shamelessly up against Shane's, breathing hard and fast.

"Make me," Shane says, and laughs when Brendon grabs his wrists and pulls him back down.

:::

When Shane wakes up, the sky is bright white and the sun is struggling to break through. He knows that Brendon's awake and staring at the back of his head like a freak, but he doesn't move.

"Shane," Brendon whispers, leaning into him, pushing his hair gently out of his face. His sharp chin digs into Shane's shoulder. "Shaaaane, the fire's out, and it's freezing. And Dylan is asking to go outside. And I need coffee. Shane, come _on_ ," Brendon says more loudly, slipping his hot fingers under Shane's t-shirt.

Shane rolls over and opens his eyes. Brendon's face is inches away from his.

He leans in to close the distance between them and kisses Brendon's smiling mouth. "Okay," he says. "Let's do this."

End.


End file.
